


to take, to hold

by lunapark



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunapark/pseuds/lunapark
Summary: “Do you believe in ghosts?” Arthur blurts.Merlin laughs without missing a beat. “You’ve been watching too many scary movies,” he teases, and leaves it at that.It doesn’t answer Arthur’s question.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 212
Collections: Tavernfest Round 1: Ghosts and Hauntings





	to take, to hold

**Author's Note:**

> I recently finished watching _The Haunting of Hill House_ (2 years late, I know) and couldn't get this out of my head. Although this fic is inspired by the series and you may be able to draw some parallels, please rest assured that the plot is very different. :) If there is one thing I am a sucker for, it's a happy ending.

* * *

“I hope I die first.”

The pull of sleep is so strong that Arthur hardly hears it at first, whispered as softly as the waves crashing against the sandy shore outside their little cottage. Arthur blinks open his eyes and turns his head to find Merlin staring back at him in the low light of their bedroom, eyes pained and glistening. Arthur has always wondered how Merlin can live this way—with eyes so expressive, so _vulnerable_ , emotions laid bare for all to see.

“Why would you say something like that?”

Merlin shrugs a shoulder, the skin of his throat pulling taut as he swallows. “Because it’s true. I can’t stand the thought of living a day on this earth without you.”

Arthur flips onto his side so he’s facing Merlin, brows furrowed. “What’s all this about?”

“When we took our vows, we promised each other, ‘til death do us part.’” Bullshit,” Merlin scoffs, lashes coming away wet and clumped together when he blinks. “I am yours, and you are mine. Forever. In life and in death and whatever comes after.”

Arthur pushes Merlin onto his back and hovers over him. He smells like soap and sand and the ocean. Like home.

“Merlin.” Arthur holds up his left hand, the silver band shining when it catches the moonlight. He will never forget the beaming, radiant smile Merlin had gifted him as he slipped the ring onto Arthur’s finger and read the inscription just loud enough so only Arthur would hear.

 _I carry your heart with me_.

“We’ve worn these rings for five days, but I’ve loved you for five _years_.” At that, Merlin smiles, soft and slow. “If you think for even a second that I’m going to give you up...well, then you really are as stupid as you look.”

Merlin tries to slap him for it, but Arthur catches his hand and holds it against his cheek.

“We have our whole lives ahead of us,” Arthur tells him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“No,” Merlin breathes. “ _Promise_ me, Arthur.”

“I promise,” Arthur says, and presses a kiss to his palm.

“I promise,” Arthur says again, brushing kisses down Merlin’s chest to his navel, where he lingers, watching Merlin’s lips part as his breath comes quicker.

“I promise,” Arthur repeats for the last time, dropping one kiss to his hipbone and another to his inner thigh—then further still, until Merlin’s fingers tangle in his hair and they don’t need words to speak anymore.

━◆━

Arthur loves to watch Merlin cook. As clumsy as he is in all other aspects of life, constantly knocking into walls and tripping over his own feet, there is a certain, unexpected grace about him when he moves around a kitchen. One that never fails to mesmerize Arthur into stopping and staring. Like now, as he watches the delicate rise and fall of Merlin’s elbow as he slices up a tomato.

“So are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you going to help for once?”

“I’m enjoying the view,” Arthur clarifies, grinning at the reflection of Merlin’s begrudging smile in the window. “Plus, you know I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, like the time you made cupcakes for Gwen’s Christmas party and used salt instead of sugar,” Merlin reminds him as Arthur grumbles. “I had to swallow a spoonful of maple syrup just to get the taste out of my mouth.”

“They’re both white and the containers looked exactly the same!”

“Maybe you could've, oh, I don't know, actually read the label?”

Arthur scowls. “How did you know I was here anyway?” he asks instead.

Merlin scoops up the diced tomatoes and adds them into the salad bowl, very deliberately wiping his hands on the front of his apron before turning around to look at Arthur.

“Call it a sixth sense,” Merlin says with a mysterious glint in his eyes.

Arthur snorts and shakes his head. He’ll never quite get used to these vague remarks or the enigmatic smile that always accompanies them. Maybe he’ll never be privy to that secret, but Arthur doesn’t care, not when Merlin loves him so completely, with every breath and fiber of his being. So when Merlin holds out a hand, Arthur takes it and backs Merlin up against the kitchen sink, kissing him soundly on his gorgeous, laughing mouth.

They jump apart when the oven alarm goes off.

“Jesus, can that thing get any louder?” Arthur mutters as Merlin swears and brushes past him to pull the lasagna out of the oven.

“Old house,” Merlin says by way of explanation, setting the lasagna onto the stove. “ _You_ of all people should know that, Mr. Architect.”

“And that’s why we are getting the hell out of here as soon as—” Arthur groans and slaps a hand against his forehead while Merlin frowns in confusion. “Shit, I left the blueprints at the office. I need to go grab them.”

“ _Now_?” Merlin asks incredulously. “Arthur, dinner is almost ready.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that I have a call early tomorrow morning with the contractor, and I’m going to need...” Arthur trails off at the disappointed look in Merlin’s eyes.

“Hey.” Arthur cups his face in both hands. “You know I’m doing this for us, right? For the home we’ve always wanted. Our dream home.”

Merlin closes his eyes. “I know,” he sighs. Eventually, he looks at Arthur, his smile encouraging but a little sad all the same. “All right, fine. But be quick. I won’t be reheating the lasagna for you.”

“You won’t need to,” Arthur insists. He stamps an apologetic kiss to Merlin’s forehead before grabbing his keys from the holder on the wall. “I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

Arthur is halfway out the door when Merlin suddenly seizes his hand, holding on tight.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks uncertainly.

“Just—be safe.”

Arthur flashes him a warm smile and squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“You know I always am.”

━◆━

Gathering the blueprints takes longer than anticipated, so it’s pitch black out by the time Arthur returns home. He’s surprised to see that Merlin has turned off all the lights, including the porch light, and curses himself for coming home so late.

The eerie stillness amplifies the creaking of the front door as Arthur pushes it open, wincing. He leaves his keys and the prints by the entryway, then toes off his shoes and shuffles into the living room. It’s completely dark, save for the small candle burning on the coffee table. Merlin is just barely discernible in the darkness, the top of his head peaking out over the armchair next to the fireplace, evidently having fallen asleep while waiting for Arthur to return home.

Arthur ignores the persistent tugging of guilt in his chest and tiptoes over to where Merlin is sleeping. Merlin must’ve showered while he was gone because his hair is damp; it looks longer now, somehow, tufts of it curling over his forehead and temples and the tips of his ears. The light dusting of stubble along his jawline from earlier is gone, too. Merlin is wearing one of Arthur’s old bathrobes, their wedding album open in his lap, fingers clutching the photograph Gwaine had snapped just seconds after the ceremony had ended—when Merlin had jumped onto his back without warning, nearly toppling them both over.

Arthur smiles at the memory as he kneels down next to Merlin’s sleeping form and carefully extricates the photograph out of his hand, setting it and the album aside. Merlin looks so peaceful that he almost doesn’t want to wake him.

“Merlin,” he murmurs, stroking the hair off his forehead. “Merlin, wake up.”

Merlin is slow to stir, lids fluttering like he’s in a deep sleep before his eyes finally slit open. It feels like minutes have passed before his gaze focuses on Arthur’s face, and even longer for it to register.

Merlin lifts his head, looking almost wary if Arthur didn’t know any better. “Ar...thur?”

Arthur smiles at his dazed expression. “Hi, sweetness.” He leans in to kiss the rise of his cheekbone. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Merlin sits up so suddenly that it startles him. “You’re— You’re _here_ ,” he gasps. His eyes rake Arthur’s face frantically, drinking him in.

“I got stuck at the office trying to find those damn prints. Time got away from me, and next thing I knew, it was almost midnight,” Arthur explains, his smile rueful now. “I’m sorry you ended up having dinner alone. I’ll make it up to you.”

Merlin’s eyelids fall halfway shut and something in his gaze shutters closed, gone somewhere Arthur can’t reach.

“You don’t...” Merlin reaches out a trembling hand, but stops just short of touching him, visibly hesitating, looking scared now.

“What?” Arthur asks.

He closes his eyes as Merlin’s cool fingertips ghost over his brows and nose, then drag across his mouth.

“Nothing,” Merlin says—and now he’s smiling too, Arthur can hear it in his voice.

Merlin’s lips brush his own in the softest, most fleeting kiss. When Arthur opens his eyes, Merlin is still smiling that familiar secret smile that he has come to love so deeply. There’s something strange about the way Merlin is looking at him, but Arthur convinces himself it’s because it’s late and his mind is off-kilter with sleep.

At least Merlin isn’t mad at him.

“Come on,” Merlin urges. He gets to his feet and helps Arthur up. “Let’s go to bed.”

Arthur nods, stopping to blow out the lone candle before following Merlin to their bedroom. “It’s been a long day.”

Merlin smiles back at him but doesn’t say a word, eyes glittering in the dark.

━◆━

The contractor never calls that next morning. Arthur tries reaching the company three times before he finally gives up, slamming the phone down and damning the lack of professionalism.

“I set up this meeting weeks ago,” Arthur laments. “They even called to confirm the appointment on Friday. So how the fuck do you just _forget_ to call a client?”

“An emergency, maybe?” Merlin offers.

“Is that really the best you can come up with?”

Merlin presses his lips into a thin line. “I don’t know what to tell you, but there’s no use getting testy with _me_ over it,” he says mildly.

Arthur watches Merlin dig through their box of Halloween decorations and loses some of his ire. It had become an annual tradition, Merlin taking two weeks off work to celebrate “spooky season” as he liked to call it, and Arthur felt like an absolute dick for snapping at him about something that wasn’t even remotely his fault.

Arthur sighs. “You’re right. Sorry.” He kisses Merlin’s temple, which earns him a small smile.

“How can I help?”

“You can start by untangling these.” Merlin shoves a box full of fake cobwebs into his arms and grins at the disgust on his face.

“Have fun, handsome.”

◆

Arthur is outside hanging sheet ghosts on their tree when he sees the boy for the first time.

He’s standing on the grass in front of their driveway. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, skin an ashy white, but it’s his eyes that draw Arthur in—pale blue and unblinking.

“Hi, kiddo.” Arthur gets off the ladder. “Can I help you?”

The boy doesn’t reply. Instead, he stares at Arthur with such an unnerving intensity that it makes his skin prickle, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“What’s your name?” he asks. “Mine is Arthur.”

When the boy still doesn’t answer, Arthur decides to change tactics, ignoring the uneasy feeling rapidly growing in his belly.

“Are you lost?” he tries. They live at the top of a hill, so their closest neighbors are almost a mile away. “Can I call your par—”

“Arthur,” Merlin calls. “Who are you talking to?”

Arthur manages to tear his gaze away just as Merlin emerges from the garage with another box of decorations. “There’s a boy here.”

Merlin blinks and puts down the box. “What boy?”

“The b—”

But when he looks back, the boy is gone.

“What? Where’d he go? He was just here.” He runs to either end of their yard as Merlin looks on dubiously, but there’s no trace of him. As if he’s simply vanished into thin air.

“He was standing right there,” Arthur insists, pointing to the patch of wet grass that should be dented with footprints but definitely isn’t. “I asked him if he was lost, but he didn’t answer. He just...kept staring at me.”

“Well, maybe found his way back home,” Merlin suggests, shrugging it off too casually for Arthur’s liking. “Help me with these jack o’ lanterns, will you?”

◆

As he’s drying off after his shower, Arthur notices a bloody gash under his left rib. It’s deep, the skin sliced through in a neat, clean line, torn flaps exposing the tissue underneath. Arthur pokes it lightly with his finger, alarmed when he doesn’t feel the slightest bit of pain.

“You must’ve cut yourself on a tree branch earlier,” Merlin murmurs, peering at the wound intently.

“A tree branch?” Arthur repeats, laughing in disbelief. “Merlin, it looks like someone took a _knife_ and—”

“You weren’t around any knives,” Merlin informs him tersely.

“No, but...” Arthur frowns at his tone, shoulders sagging. “I don’t know. There wasn’t any blood on my sweater. I checked. And it’s not just a surface scratch, it’s—it’s _deep_.”

Merlin grabs the first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet. “Let me bandage it up for you,” he says, pulling out the disinfectant spray and dropping to his knees.

“Wait,” Arthur starts, just as he feels the cold splash of disinfectant on his skin. “It looks serious. Shouldn’t I go to the emergency room for stitches?”

“Did that hurt?” Merlin asks quietly.

“Well, no, but—”

“You’ll be fine,” Merlin assures him. He looks up at Arthur with a kind smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Don’t I need a doctor?”

Merlin chuckles. “I work in a lab. I have steady hands.”

Arthur watches as Merlin cleans around the wound with a strip of sterile gauze, then smears on a thick layer of antibiotic ointment and covers it with a large rectangular bandage.

Before getting to his feet, Merlin presses his lips to the unmarred skin above the bandage, the gesture so indescribably intimate that it makes Arthur’s mouth go dry.

“You trust me, right?” Merlin asks softly.

Arthur wraps a hand around the nape of Merlin’s neck and rubs a gentle thumb over his cheek, smiling.

“Always.”

◆

The dreams start that night.

It’s always slight variations of the same thing—he’s chasing the boy he’d seen in their yard, except he’s inside the house now. No matter how many times Arthur calls out to him, the boy keeps running away from him, glancing behind his shoulder with fearful eyes. It ends with him running out the front door, the bright light from the other side blinding Arthur just long enough to let the boy escape.

Arthur always wakes up before he can follow him.

“You’re too stressed,” Merlin chides. “We’re on vacation. You need to relax.”

Today, they’re sitting by the window in the living room watching the sheet ghosts sway in the October breeze, Arthur’s back against Merlin’s chest, Merlin’s fingers lazily carding through Arthur’s hair.

“Read to me,” Arthur murmurs.

“What would you like to hear?”

“Anything.”

As Arthur closes his eyes, Merlin reaches down to retrieve a book from the stack beneath their coffee table.

“ _It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea_ ,” Merlin reads, “ _that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee; and this maiden, she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me_.”

Arthur smiles and lets the soft cadence of Merlin’s voice lull him to a perfect, dreamless sleep.

━◆━

“Maybe we should take a day trip into the country and visit your mother,” Arthur suggests one morning after breakfast. “Would be nice to get out of the house for a while.”

Merlin drops the plate he’d been furiously scrubbing clean with a sponge. It falls to the floor with a loud, deafening clang, spinning in circles until Arthur finally stops it with his foot. He bends down to pick it up and affectionately calls Merlin a klutz before noticing that Merlin is frozen in place.

“Merlin?”

Merlin is standing with his back facing him, so Arthur can’t see his expression, but the way he’s seized up, still as a statue, is unsettling.

Arthur approaches him with some trepidation. “Merlin?” he asks, met with silence yet again. Arthur swallows and reaches out a hand, lightly touching his shoulder.

“That’s a great idea,” Merlin says, just as quickly himself again, his tone cheerful. He picks up a dirty bowl and begins washing it as if the last sixty seconds hadn’t even happened.

“But she’s out of town visiting my Uncle Gaius,” Merlin goes on to say. “Maybe another time.”

The smile Merlin gives him is easygoing and entirely genuine, but something about it looks wrong.

“Maybe another time,” Arthur cautiously agrees.

━◆━

A searing, piercing pain in his left side catapults Arthur awake. He grimaces and throws off the covers, horrified to find maggots crawling out of his now purulent wound, the surrounding flesh putrid and gangrenous.

“M-Merlin,” he stutters, shaking him awake. “I-I need to go to t-the hospital. My side—”

“Oh, my love. I’ll take care of you,” Merlin promises.

Except it’s not Merlin.

His eyes are milky white and pupiless, skin a mottled, decaying gray. _He’s dead_ , Arthur realizes, but is so petrified that he can’t move or yell or even breathe. The thing smiles, revealing a row of rotting yellow teeth; and when it touches his cheek, Arthur feels his blood turn to ice and he _screams_ , jumping out of bed and backing himself against the wall, trying to get as far away from the thing as possible.

“Arthur? Arthur, what—”

“S-Stay away from me,” Arthur rasps, trying to walk backwards to the door. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Arthur... _Arthur_ , it’s me. It’s Merlin.” The bedside lamp is switched on and sure enough it _is_ Merlin. The real Merlin. Not the decomposing bag of skin and bones that had touched him.

The relief is so overwhelming that Arthur’s knees buckle and he slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor with tears streaming down his face, shaking uncontrollably. Merlin rushes over to him and kneels at his side, pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead, worry lining every inch of his sweet, beautiful face.

“What happened?” he asks gently.

“I dreamt— You were— Y-You _looked_ —”

Suddenly, Arthur remembers his infected wound. He lifts up his shirt, terrified of what he might see, but all that’s there is the bandage Merlin had replaced earlier that evening, the skin around it healthy and pink.

Arthur sucks in lungfuls of air. He can still feel the ice in his veins. He’s freezing.

“Come back to bed with me,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur nods and Merlin carefully helps him to his feet. The few steps back to their bed feel neverending, and if not for Merlin, Arthur is certain he would’ve collapsed to the floor. At last, Arthur falls onto the mattress like a dead weight, utterly exhausted and feverish. He buries his face into Merlin’s sleep shirt and breathes in his scent.

“I dreamt you were dead,” he confesses some time later.

“I’m right here,” Merlin tells him firmly, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur lists against him and lets Merlin hold him until sunrise.

━◆━

Arthur starts seeing the boy everywhere. In the kitchen when he is washing dishes. Standing by the closet door when he is folding laundry. In the bathroom before he flips on the light switch. The boy only appears when he is alone, but Arthur feels his presence all the time—lurking in the deepest corners and darkest shadows of not just their home, but his _mind_.

While Merlin sleeps, Arthur remains awake, sketching the boy’s face in his notebook over and over again, each one identical to the last.

The wide-eyed, terrified stare haunts Arthur day and night.

◆

He doesn’t tell Merlin about it, afraid that Merlin will think he’s lost his mind and have him committed. But eventually, Arthur starts wondering whether he _should_ be committed, because his grasp on reality is tenuous at best these days, slipping farther and farther away with each sleepless night.

One morning, as Merlin is making them breakfast, the question spills out of Arthur before his brain can catch up with what his mouth is doing.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Arthur blurts.

Merlin laughs without missing a beat. “You’ve been watching too many scary movies,” he teases, and leaves it at that.

It doesn’t answer Arthur’s question.

━◆━

His dreams change.

Now they are of Merlin wandering around their home in a bizarre fugue state, disturbingly silent even as Arthur calls out to him over and over again. Merlin drifts through the halls like a lost specter, turning corners and vanishing before reappearing at the opposite end of the house, always three steps ahead no matter how fast Arthur runs to keep up with him.

The dream ends the same way each time, with Merlin stopping in front of their living room window and gazing out of it like he’s waiting for someone. Arthur is just about to close the distance between them when it all disintegrates to sand, when the last tendrils of sleep give way to wakefulness and Arthur opens his eyes to find that he is in their bed.

He spends the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling, listening to Merlin breathe in his sleep, waiting for daylight.

━◆━

Tonight, he wakes to Merlin’s mouth on his skin in the darkness.

“Merlin, what—,” is all Arthur manages to get out, sleep-addled and confused, before he is hushed quiet.

Merlin presses his body flush against Arthur’s, his skin colder than the air on a dead winter’s night. Arthur shivers, skin tingling like it’s being poked with thousands of tiny ice crystals. He can hear the wind whipping through the leaves outside, but it can’t possibly be that chilly inside the house.

“You’re so cold.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin murmurs into the side of Arthur’s neck. Though his skin is freezing, Merlin’s mouth is hotter than a ring of fire, lips soft and wet as they kiss along Arthur’s jawline, Merlin’s panted breaths warm against his throat. The dual sensations make Arthur’s arousal flare through the haze of sleep.

“Are you sure?” he tries, voice gravelly with sleep and desire.

“Arthur,” Merlin says desperately, moving to straddle him, his weight settling over Arthur’s lap distractingly. He’s already undressed. The dull throbbing between Arthur’s legs turning into a persistent ache.

“I had a dream,” Merlin admits, his voice cracking, and now Arthur gets it. “It was awful and so, so real, and I just—need to forget. I need _you_. Please, Arthur.”

He strokes his hands up Merlin’s back, willing some warmth back into his skin, and urges him down for a slow, searching kiss. Merlin melts into it and runs his tongue across Arthur’s lower lip before pulling it into his mouth. His hands slide under Arthur’s t-shirt, the icy touch of his fingers like electric shocks down Arthur’s spine. Merlin rucks up his shirt impatiently until Arthur has to break the kiss to sit up and tug it off, panting quietly against Merlin’s chin.

“How... How do you want—?”

Merlin gently pushes at his shoulders until Arthur lies back down. “Let me,” he whispers, brushing a parting kiss to Arthur’s mouth before sliding down his body.

Merlin sucks wet, open-mouthed kisses to Arthur’s skin as he goes, his cold fingertips a welcome relief as they trail over the scorching heat left in the wake of his lips. He lingers at the bandage under Arthur’s left rib and strokes a hand over it reverently, his murmur indistinct.

Arthur swallows, breathing hard already, hands restless at his sides in anticipation. Merlin hooks a finger under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, and Arthur lifts up, allowing Merlin to tug off them off along with his briefs.

Merlin wraps a hand around the base of Arthur’s cock and coaxes his burgeoning arousal into full hardness. The first touch of Merlin’s tongue to his slit has Arthur swearing quietly, feet slipping along the cool sheets. Merlin takes the cockhead into his mouth and laps at its tip before taking Arthur even deeper, nosily sucking on his shaft, the warm, slick seal of his mouth a dizzying promise of what is to come. Merlin lowers his mouth another fraction so Arthur’s flexing cock taps the back of his throat, and Arthur tips his head back on the pillow, moaning. His hips buck reflexively and he thrusts up into Merlin’s eager mouth, cock jerking when Merlin slides his tongue along his pulsating length and hums.

Arthur reaches down to cup Merlin’s face and strokes his thumbs over his hollowed cheeks before pushing him away. Merlin pulls off his cock with a final kiss to the tip, and Arthur is so on the edge already that he almost comes right there.

“Come here,” Arthur rasps, hauling Merlin back up over his lap. He reaches over to retrieve the bottle of lube from their bedside table, but Merlin pulls his hand back.

“Don’t need it,” Merlin breathes. He takes Arthur’s hand and presses it between his legs where he is already wet and stretched open.

“But— But when?” Arthur asks hoarsely.

Merlin doesn’t answer, but Arthur feels his blossoming smile when Merlin leans down to kiss him. He wastes no time and reaches back to guide Arthur’s arousal up into his body, sighing his relief against Arthur’s mouth as he is breached. He lets Arthur’s cockhead settle just beyond that tight furl of muscle before he straightens his back and sinks down until he is nearly sitting in Arthur’s lap, panting.

The early morning light peaks through their curtains, slicing across Merlin’s chest and throwing his face into stark relief, the shadows softening into the ridge of his brow, the sharp curve of his cheekbone. Merlin looks ethereal and otherworldly, skin almost translucent beneath Arthur’s fingertips. It takes his breath away.

“Merlin,” he whispers, rubbing soothing hands over Merlin’s trembling thighs, his skin finally warming. “I can—”

Merlin shakes his head. “Next time, I want you to fuck me, but tonight we need this,” he says with the slightest quiver in his voice. “It’s been so long.”

All Arthur can do is nod. He slides his hands up and holds onto his hips, thumbs fitting into the divots. The world narrows to Merlin as he begins to move, rocking up and back, each movement pulling Arthur deeper inside of him.

Merlin throws his head back, moaning and raking his nails softly down Arthur’s chest, his weight pressing Arthur’s hips to the mattress. He slips another degree further down and they groan in tandem.

“God, you feel incredible,” Merlin breathes out, sounding as far gone as Arthur feels. “It’s like you’re under my skin.”

His cock leaks steadily against Arthur’s belly, and Arthur reaches for it, but Merlin bats his hand away. He takes Arthur’s hands in his own and laces their fingers together, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s wedding band before pinning both his hands against the pillow.

Their breathing is low and harsh as Merlin lies down on him and Arthur thrusts up into his body, chasing the indescribable pleasure. Merlin rolls his hips and moans against Arthur’s throat, cock rubbing over his skin. He kisses Arthur again and licks his mouth open to thrust his tongue inside in time with Arthur’s cock.

Merlin quickens the cadence of his hips, breathing going ragged and then stopping altogether as he jerks against Arthur’s body, spilling hot and slick between them, squeezing rhythmically around Arthur’s cock.

“Keep going,” Merlin urges, sounding exhausted but still unsatisfied. He frees Arthur’s hands to bury his fingers in Arthur’s silky, sweaty hair, grinding down on his cock.

Arthur grabs the backs of his thighs and spreads them wider, thrusting up into the clenching heat. The heavy weight of Merlin on top of him grounds Arthur to the present, makes him hyperaware of the humid breath Merlin is panting against his throat, the fingers Merlin is carding through his hair.

Arthur holds him close and breathes him in, eyes squeezing shut as he breaks at last, pulsing inside Merlin’s pliant, willing body, each beat of his orgasm sharp and unrelenting. The sound of Merlin’s soft moans as Arthur spends inside him makes his cock ache.

Merlin brushes kisses to his brow and cheeks and lips before shifting off Arthur, his cock slipping free. Arthur regrets the loss of Merlin’s body immediately and keeps him close, twining their legs together beneath the covers. Merlin rests his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and smooths the pad of his thumb over Arthur’s swollen, bitten lips.

“I love you so much I feel like I could devour you.”

Merlin’s voice is so raw that Arthur’s throat tightens. He closes his eyes as tears run out the corners and splash onto the pillow, onto Merlin’s cheek, one by one.

━◆━

Morgana stops by for a visit. When she sees him, she turns white as a ghost, eyes darting between him and Merlin uncomfortably. Arthur doesn’t get it, especially when Merlin gives her a tight-lipped smile before excusing himself and retreating to their bedroom, complaining of a headache.

Though Morgana doesn’t comment on Arthur’s appearance, she keeps sneaking surreptitious glances at him, and Arthur can only imagine what he looks like these days. Still, it’s good to see her, good to get out of his own headspace for a while.

“How is Guinevere doing?” he asks.

Her eyes soften in that way they always do when anyone mentions Gwen. “Oh, you know. Waddling along. Precious thing’s ankles are swollen. I have to give her foot rubs before bed every night.”

Arthur smiles. “And the baby?”

“Perfect,” she says proudly, always the doting wife and soon to be a doting mother. “We’re... We’re having a boy, Arthur.”

“Congratulations,” Arthur tells her, awed. Morgana had spent her entire life never wanting children, but all that had changed the moment she fell in love with Gwen.

“Have you picked a name?”

Arthur thinks the question is innocent enough, but it cracks Morgana’s normally unflappable composure and suddenly her eyes are shining with tears. Her hands ball into fists, skin stretching so tight over her knuckles that it turns white.

“Sorry, I, um,” Arthur stumbles, unsure what he is even apologizing for, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s all right,” she assures him with a smile that’s barely passable. “But...yes, we have a name in mind.”

When Morgana doesn’t offer more information, Arthur assumes she wants to keep it a surprise until after the birth. He puts on the biggest smile he can and reaches out to pat her hand, but Morgana is still staring at him apprehensively, wringing her hands in her lap.

Arthur leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees instead. “You know, you annoyed the hell out of me when we were kids, but you were the best sister I could’ve asked for,” he admits. “I know you’re ready to be a mother now. You’re going to be great, Morgana. That baby is so lucky to have such strong, special women as his parents. Merlin and I can’t wait to meet him.”

Morgana wipes away the tear on her cheek as she tells him, “Neither can we.”

◆

“You haven’t told him?” Arthur overhears Morgana ask Merlin in a hushed tone while he is in the kitchen preparing tea.

“There’s nothing to tell him,” Merlin replies, voice strained. “He’s happy. We’re both happy.”

“Happy?” The harsh, bitter sound of her laughter makes Arthur wince. “Have you seen him? Have you even asked him how he’s been doing these days? He looks _haunted_ , Merlin. That is not my brother.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Merlin says, low.

“If you don’t tell him, then I will.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“I’m his sister!”

“And I am his _husband_ ,” Merlin hisses. “Stand down, Morgana.”

“He deserves to know the truth,” Morgana insists, sounding desperate now. “Merlin, if you love him—”

“Don’t... Don’t you dare,” Merlin rasps. “You’ve got no right.”

“I can’t stand by and watch this.”

“Then you should leave.”

Morgana’s heels click sharp and purposefully as she walks towards what Arthur assumes is the front door. “You can’t keep this up forever, Merlin,” she warns before the door is slammed shut with such force that Arthur feels the entire house shake.

Merlin wanders into the kitchen not a minute later. Arthur doesn’t turn around to look at him, but he can feel the intensity of Merlin’s gaze boring a hole into his back. Arthur very deliberately dunks a teabag into each mug, pretending he hadn’t just eavesdropped on their heated conversation.

“I heard the door shut,” Arthur says slowly. “Did Morgana leave?”

Merlin comes to stand next to him at the counter. “Yeah.”

Arthur finally looks at Merlin. His expression is the picture of neutrality. It’s impossible to tell what’s going on in his head. Even his eyes are lacking their usual warmth and transparency.

“So soon?” Arthur asks curiously.

“Maybe she had some errands to run,” Merlin shrugs. “Beats me.”

Arthur sets his jaw, trying not to let his frustrations show. Since when had Merlin become so fucking evasive?

Just what was he hiding?

“Tea smells good,” Merlin says, nodding approvingly. “My head feels better already.”

Arthur forces a smile onto his face and slides Merlin his tea. As he watches Merlin cradle the mug in his hands and blow on the steam, Arthur decides to give him another chance.

“So, what did you two talk about while I was in the kitchen?” he asks as casually as possible.

Merlin takes a long, measured sip. “Nothing important,” he lies, and Arthur’s heart sinks.

◆

They don’t talk much the rest of the day. Arthur skips dinner and goes to bed early, telling Merlin he feels sick. It’s a shit lie, and he knows Merlin can see right through it, but Merlin doesn’t press him on it, just kisses his forehead and tucks him into bed, which somehow makes it worse.

Arthur tosses and turns for hours before sinking into a delirious, fitful slumber. He dreams of Merlin again, but this time he is able to reach him before he wakes up. Arthur grabs Merlin’s shoulder and forces him to turn around at last.

Merlin stares at him with round, bloodshot eyes. There are tears streaming down his face and dripping to the floor.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps. “What’s wrong?”

“Why did you leave?” Merlin sobs.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asks in confused disbelief. “Sweetheart, I’m right here.”

“Why did you leave?” Merlin demands.

His skin starts to gray, flesh cracking around his lips where laugh lines are meant to be. Arthur is horrified but can’t tear his gaze away, not even when Merlin’s pupils begin to fade and his eyes turn white.

Arthur stumbles and falls to the floor. “I-I don’t understa—”

“ _WHY DID YOU LEAVE?_ ”

Merlin screams, mouth opening inhumanly wide to reveal a dark, gaping hole surrounded by rotting teeth.

Arthur jolts awake and gasps for breath, the anguished cry ringing in his ears as clearly as if it had been real. His skin is clammy and his shirt sticks to his back, the sheets beneath him drenched with his sweat. Merlin is sound asleep next to him, but even that does little to quell the despair bubbling inside of him. Arthur covers his mouth and bites his palm to smother a sob, shoulders shaking with the effort not to cry out and wake Merlin. He feels helpless and exhausted and so full of terror that he’s going insane, the line between reality and fantasy blurring into nothingness.

Arthur presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, sucking in deep, steadying breaths to calm himself down. When he pulls his hands away, he isn’t surprised to find the boy lurking in the doorway of their bedroom. Arthur has all but resigned himself to seeing him now.

“What do you want?” he whispers.

The boy beckons him forward with a hand before sprinting out of the room. Arthur throws off the covers and chases after him, running as fast as he can through the hallway and living room to the front door, where he stops. The boy opens the door and, with a final look at Arthur, rushes outside. Arthur hesitates for a moment, a cold sense of dread creeping over him, before following him outside.

The boy is standing at the foot of their driveway, pointing down at the sidewalk. The buzzing that had started in Arthur’s ears the moment he had walked out the door grows louder, his breathing shallow and fast.

Arthur steps off the porch and realizes that it’s a body the boy is pointing at. A _dead_ body, illuminated under the streetlights. With colorless skin and grimy hair and a bruised mouth, blood pooling around beneath it. Every fiber of his being is screaming at Arthur to look away, but he can’t, no matter how gruesome the sight. He needs to know. It draws him in closer and closer until his bare feet are touching the sticky, congealing blood and he is staring down at—

He falls to his knees.

— _himself_.

Arthur reaches out a shaking hand and pushes up the shirt on the body, revealing a left-sided wounded identical to his own. He lifts up his own shirt and rips off the bandage. The gash doesn’t look any worse, but it’s not any better either.

It’s precisely, impossibly the same.

Arthur looks up at the boy. “All this time...” He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to force the words out. “All this time, I thought you were a ghost, but you were just trying to tell me...”

For the first time, the boy smiles.

“Thank you,” he tells Arthur, and disappears.

◆

When Arthur finally returns to their bedroom, he finds Merlin awake and flipping through his sketchbook of the boy, looking aghast. Arthur steps inside the room, and Merlin takes a long look at his face, then puts down the notebook and stands up.

“Arthur,” he starts, pressing his trembling lips together.

There are so many things Arthur wants to say to him, so many questions he needs to ask and holes that have to be filled, but he is too confused and too hurt to verbalize any of them. His mind is still reeling, the sight of his own corpse burned into his mind.

“When were you planning on telling me?” Arthur asks quietly.

“Telling you what?”

“That I’m dead.” Arthur bares his teeth as he spits out the last word.

Merlin doesn’t even try to deny it, though the look of guilt in his eyes is unmistakable. “How did you find out?”

“The boy,” Arthur says hoarsely, jerking his head in the direction of the notebook. “The boy I saw outside when we were decorating the house. At first he only appeared in my dreams, but then I began seeing him everywhere. Like he was following me. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing his face. I thought I was going insane.”

Merlin stares down at his feet meekly, the silence deafening. Anger flares bright hot in Arthur, burning him through. Suddenly Merlin and Morgana’s argument from earlier makes perfect sense.

“And you, my very own husband. My love. My _soulmate_ ,” he chokes out. “You knew all this time, and never thought to tell me?”

“It’s not like that,” Merlin insists. “You don’t understand.”

“ _I_ don’t understand?” Arthur barks out a mirthless laugh. “Here I was thinking I was losing my fucking mind, that I was being haunted by the ghost of a dead kid, when in reality _I_ was the one who had been dead all along. Morgana was right—I was being tormented,” Arthur’s voice breaks, “and you let me believe it.”

“Arthur, please, I know you’re hurting and that you’re angry with me for keeping this from you, but you have to understand that it wasn’t a decision I made lightly,” Merlin says, eyes welling up with tears. “You have to let me explain.”

“How is it that can you see me?” Arthur demands, almost shouting now. “And touch me? The other night, when we...” If he closes his eyes, he can still feel the silken slide of Merlin’s bare skin over his, the soft press of lips on his own. “It felt so real. How is that possible?”

“Because I’m dead too.”

The confession is a swift, brutal kick to the gut.

Still, Arthur refuses to believe it’s true, certain he must’ve misheard. “Y-You’re what?” he stammers.

“I’m _dead_ , Arthur,” Merlin tells him, as plainly as if he was commenting on the weather.

“But how...”

Merlin sits back down on the bed. “We need to start from very the beginning,” he says, eyes heavy with sadness and brimming with tears. “But before that, I need you to know something.”

“What?” he rasps.

“I love you, Arthur.” Merlin holds out his left hand, his wedding band glinting in the lamplight. “And I never stopped loving you, not even in death. And I’ll keep loving you forever, even if—if this is how it ends and you never speak to me again.”

Arthur takes his hand without hesitation; as furious as he is, this will never need deciding. Merlin squeezes his hand, his smile genuine and thankful, and pulls Arthur to sit down beside him. His hand is freezing again, and now Arthur finally understands why. He tangles their fingers together.

“From the beginning,” Arthur prompts.

Merlin nods and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as though gathering his courage. When he opens them, they are clear as crystal and more gray than blue in the yellow light.

“You really don’t remember any of it?” Merlin asks, astonished.

“Nothing.”

“That night you forgot the blueprints at the office and had to go back—do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

Merlin stays facing him, but his eyes mist and a strange faraway look passes over his face. “You left, but you never came back,” he admits quietly. “I called the police. Then I stood by the window”—and though Merlin doesn’t tell him which window, Arthur knows, he _knows_ it was the one in the living room—“and waited and prayed to every god I knew. My heart skipped when I saw car lights pull up to the driveway, but the car wasn’t yours. It was the police.”

His voice falls to the softest, barest whisper. “They told me you got in the way of a little boy and a knife.”

Arthur instinctively presses a hand to his left side. Merlin tracks the movement with his eyes but doesn’t comment.

“You bled out right there on the sidewalk. All alone. You brave, selfless, impossible _idiot_.”

Arthur remembers pieces of it now: the acrid smell of alcohol and drugs, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, the cold pavement against his back as he collapsed; and with his last remaining strength, telling the boy to run before everything turned black.

“Did you ever find out the boy’s name?” Arthur asks.

“Mordred,” Merlin replies, wiping his eyes furiously. “He came to your funeral and told me he wished he could thank you for saving his life.”

“I had to do it,” Arthur says. “I’m sorry. I’m so _sorry_ , Merlin. I didn’t mean to leave you.”

“I know, but—that doesn’t change anything, does it?” There is no malice in his voice, only sorrow and regret. “There I was, burying you not a month after we had said ‘I do’ and promised each other forever.” Merlin fiddles with his wedding ring. “Morgana and I stayed by your grave long after the service had ended and the others had left. She said that saving Mordred was the second easiest thing you had ever done. I was confused. ‘Second easiest?’ I asked her. She smiled and nodded and told me, ‘Yes. The first was—‘“

“‘—loving you,’” Arthur finishes for him.

Merlin smiles, but his eyes are still shining with deep, indescribable pain. “I didn’t cry when I found out, you know. I just...went numb all over. I didn’t cry at the burial either. It was like my mind refused to process it. But then I came home and walked into our bedroom and lied down on our bed and I—I could _smell_ you on the sheets and pillows, as if you were still alive. But you weren’t. I realized it wouldn’t last. That one day I would wake up and your smell would be gone forever. Just another memory to add to the collection. And that’s when I felt it all, finally. All the grief and loneliness and despair erupted out of me. I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. It was like a violent storm. I screamed until I lost my voice. I punched the mattress and ripped the sheets with my bare hands. I must’ve fallen asleep because I remember waking up the next afternoon thinking it had all been a nightmare. But no, it was my new reality.”

“Merlin,” Arthur tries, but then he falls silent.

Sometimes words just aren’t enough.

“Our family and friends stopped by all the time after you died,” Merlin goes on, “to check up on me. ‘We know how much you loved him,’ they always said. But no, they really didn’t. They couldn’t even begin to comprehend the love I had for you. It was infinite and alive. As real as you and me.”

Arthur swallows. A part of him is afraid to know the answer, but he has to know.

“Did you ever think about—?” He can’t bring himself to say it.

Merlin shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t do that to my mother, or Freya, or Will. Not when we had already lost so much. But there was this open, gaping hole in my chest filled with nothingness. The bigger it got, the more of myself I lost. Until all that was left was an empty shell.”

“I never wanted that for you,” Arthur croaks, blinking back tears. “I didn’t— I wanted you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“You came to me in my dreams every night. They were so vivid, so real. I spent all of my free time sleeping. Sometimes I would sleep for days on end just to be with you again. Eventually, I quit my job. I stopped answering the door and disconnected the phone line. I didn’t eat. All I did was sleep. It took a toll on me until finally...” He trails off, looking uncertain.

“How?” Arthur manages to ask.

“The final night is still a blur to me. All I remember is putting on your bathrobe and sitting down on the armchair with our wedding album in our lap. I held one of our photos in my hand and stared down at it until my eyes shut. I thought I was falling asleep.” Merlin smiles wistfully. “But I never woke up. Not until my body joined yours below the ground and you walked back in through that door.”

“You weren’t supposed to wait for me.” Arthur can hardly bear to get the words out. “You were supposed to _live_.”

“No, Arthur,” Merlin disagrees quietly. “My body may have been alive, but I was never the same after I lost you. The truth is, I died with you that night.”

Unbidden, Arthur recalls his nightmare from earlier and the agony he had seen in Merlin’s eroding features, the ear-splitting cry that had sunk so deep he feels it in his bones.

Arthur wraps a hand around the back of Merlin’s head and rests their foreheads together. For the first time since his return, the silence between them feels comfortable and familiar.

“Morgana,” he whispers a while later. “How did she know? Why is it that can she see us?”

“Morgana is a sensitive,” Merlin explains. “She told me at your funeral that she felt your last breath. She has the gift of sight, Arthur. She _sensed_ us. She knew we were back.”

Arthur shakes his head, Merlin’s forehead rocking with his. “But I still don’t understand,” he says, pulling away and ignoring the hurt in Merlin’s expression. “Why didn’t you just tell me all this to begin with?”

Merlin closes his eyes. “Because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid that if I told you the truth then I was going to lose you again,” Merlin admits, voice shaking. “We’d been given a second chance and I just wanted us to have the life we always dreamt of having. We _deserve_ that life.” He gasps, and the tears pour out of him like a dam giving way. “We never deserved the fate we were handed. We were good people. Life wasn’t fair to us.”

“Merlin—”

“So I hid the truth. I pretended everything was okay. Because living in a lie with you was better than not having you back at all. I couldn’t stand the thought of being without you again. I missed you so much. I—I was so _alone_ , Arthur. The weather was hot but I was always so cold.”

Merlin chokes on a high-pitched, plaintive sob and shatters. Arthur pulls him tightly to his chest, understanding, finally, the sheer depth of his pain, the insurmountable weight that Merlin had begun shouldering the moment he had died. But Merlin isn’t alone in this, not anymore.

This is his burden to bear, too.

So Arthur holds Merlin and gently rocks him as Merlin clutches his t-shirt, trying to be exactly what Merlin needs right now. Merlin cries and cries, and Arthur doesn’t hush him, not even when Merlin screams into his chest with such ferocity that the lamp explodes and the bedroom door slams shut. He still has so many questions left to ask, but none of that matters right now.

Only this.

Arthur waits for Merlin to come back to him patiently. It’s slow and incremental, but eventually Merlin stops shaking and takes a deep, shuddering breath, sagging against Arthur and resting his cheek against Arthur’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry too.” _For leaving you. For taking so long to come back._

Arthur draws back just far enough to thumb away the rest of Merlin’s tears. There is a lightness in his eyes that Arthur hasn’t seen in a long, long time.

“I’m still here,” Arthur says.

“You are,” Merlin agrees, sounding exhausted and guarded and maybe even hopeful.

“I will never leave you again.”

Merlin traces a finger down the bridge of Arthur’s nose, the edge of his mouth curving the tiniest bit.

“Promise me.”

Arthur smiles against Merlin’s mouth as they kiss.

“I promise.”

━◆━

“Congratulations, Miss Pendragon. The house is yours.”

“Morgana,” she corrects, smiling kindly. “I think we’re past the point of formalities, Leon. Don’t you?”

His ducks his head, cheeks coloring slightly. “Morgana—right. Oh, before I forget...” He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a single key that he slides over to Morgana.

“This belongs to you now. It’s the master key.”

Morgana looks down at the angular-shaped head, trying not to think about just how many times Arthur had held this very key in his hands and opened the door to his and Merlin’s home.

She quickly grabs it and slips it into her purse. “Thank you, Leon,” she says, “for everything.”

“No need to thank me.”

Morgana tucks her hair behind her ears and stands to leave. It’s getting late and Gwen is home by herself with a fussy, teething baby that refuses naps unless Morgana is there to rock him to sleep.

“Before you go,” Leon abruptly says, “may I ask you something?”

Morgana pauses. “Yes?”

“Is it true what they say about the house?” he asks haltingly. “Is it really haunted?”

The rumors had begun shortly after Merlin was buried. The house remained empty and untouched, but there were accounts of unexplained flickering lights and mysterious shadowy figures seen standing at the windows. Once the press got wind of it, they tried contacting her for a statement ( _”Your brother lived here before his untimely demise. Is it true his ghost still haunts the land?”_ ) It ended up getting so bad that she had to change her phone number and threaten a lawsuit.

Morgana chooses her words very carefully. “I’ve never seen anything there that frightened me.”

Leon shudders. “Nothing good ever comes out of haunted places.”

“I like to think not all ghosts are inherently malicious,” Morgana says thoughtfully. “They were people once. Some just want a happy ending to their story.”

Morgana has her hand on the doorknob when Leon asks, “How did the story end for Merlin and Arthur?”

In the reflection of the window, she glimpses Merlin’s eye-crinkling laugh and Arthur’s sunny, boyish grin. They stand shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined, the happiest she has ever seen them. By her next blink, they’re gone.

Morgana turns her head and looks at Leon, smiling.

“It didn’t.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> The inscription on Arthur's ring is lifted from the e.e cummings poem by the same name. If you haven't read it, I strongly encourage you do so when you have a free moment because it's beautiful and I tear up every time. ♥
> 
> I have an inbox full of comments that I promise I'll be replying to soon. I'm so sorry for the delay because I truly appreciate each and every comment you all leave. It's just that COVID-19 really took a toll on my hospital during the long summer and I couldn't keep up.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading. Stay safe this fall and winter. x
> 
>  **ETA** : Thank you to schweet_heart and the other mods for letting me submit this to Tavernfest Round 1 after I'd already posted it. 😅


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